


At the Pensive Dragon

by persephone_garnata



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Multi, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Some Humor, There was only one bathtub, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28092036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone_garnata/pseuds/persephone_garnata
Summary: Alternating PoVs between Yennefer, Jaskier, and Geralt tell how they all came separately came down the mountain after the dragon hunt, and all ended up back at the Pensive Dragon Inn, all wanting to get clean - but there was only one bathtub.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	At the Pensive Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of meant this to be funny and sexy but then there were all these FEELINGS so sorry about the mood whiplash, I hope it's still at least a little bit funny and sexy.

At the Pensive Dragon

Yennefer got there first, storming quickly down the mountain with magic at her heels. She ignored Eyck’s horse – someone else could take it, and sell it, or eat it for all she cared – and headed straight back to the Pensive Dragon Inn. She’d taken the best room in the house, paid for in advance for several nights as she didn’t know how long she’d need it, with a special proviso that nobody was to disturb the room while she was away from the inn. She’d left some of her things there – bound with spells of protection, of course, and magic traps to teach any would-be thieves a lesson.

She marched in, shouted to the innkeeper ‘A hot bath, in my room, now!’ and went upstairs before he could respond. She was just taking off her road-soiled clothes, when there came a knock at the door.

‘Is that my bath?’ she demanded.

‘No, mistress,’ said a high-pitched voice. The innkeeper’s young son, sent to do his dirty work. ‘I’m afraid there is only one bathtub, and we can’t move it from the bathhouse.’

‘Why not?’ she shot back, striding over to the door half-naked, tempted to kick it open and grab the lad by the scruff of his neck. She was desperate to get the grime of the dragon hunt scrubbed from her skin, before moving on from this place – and from Geralt of Rivia. Moving on forever.

‘Because it’s made of stone, mistress,’ came the answer. Yennefer had to admit, grudgingly and to herself, that he might have a point. ‘It’s very nice,’ he continued. ‘We get hot water direct from the springs, and we buy in the finest soaps and oils – for our most favoured guests, of course.’

‘Most favoured guests? You mean, the ones who pay the most money?’

‘Yes, mistress,’ the boy squeaked, too innocent to know when to lie. And something in Yennefer melted a little bit at that simple honesty.

‘Very well,’ she said through the door. ‘I will go down to the bathhouse. Just make sure you don’t let any rabble in when I’m taking my bath.’

‘Of course, mistress.’

***

Jaskier was next. He stumbled down the mountain, barely looking where his feet were going, muttering darkly all the way about how Geralt was a dreadful witcher and a worse friend, an altogether waste of good leather who’d be doing the Continent a favour if he just got himself ripped apart by the next monster he tried to kill, and how he – Jaskier - should never have even tried to rehabilitate his reputation with that song he’d written, and sung in inns and courts the length and breadth of the land. Let Geralt be the Butcher of Blaviken again for all he cared. Which he didn’t. Care, that is. About Geralt. Maybe he’d try writing a new song about him, and call it ‘Geralt the Total Loser’ or something like that. He could think of a catchy melody…

It was hard going, and took a long time – avoiding the dwarves’ hair-raising short cut - but he eventually made it down to the inn, where he’d sat and attempted unsuccessfully to flirt with Tea and Vea while Borch talked Geralt into going on that stupid dragon hunt with that stupid sorceress and her bewitching purple eyes. By the time he got there, his clothes – his fine red suit and undershirt that had been a gift from one of his richer and more cultured lovers - were shredded by thorns and hopelessly stained by mud and gods-only-knew-what else.

When Jaskier arrived at last, he was thoroughly dirty and footsore, his throat dry as the desert scrub. He went straight up to the bar and requested a large mug of ale. The innkeeper gave him a suspicious look, but he liked the colour of his coin well enough, and delivered the ale. Jaskier drank half of it in a single gulp, which helped his throat, if not particularly his mood. He paused, put the mug down, wiped his mouth – suppressing a burp – and made his next request.

‘I really need a bath,’ he said. ‘Can you get one sent up to a room – whichever room is free?’

‘I can’t do that,’ said the innkeeper, shaking his head.

‘I can pay,’ said Jaskier, although his purse was feeling lighter than he’d like. ‘In cash, or with songs, whichever you prefer.’

‘It’s not a question of paying,’ said the man. ‘We only have one bathtub, and it’s in the bathhouse. Can’t be moved.’

‘Fine, I’ll go to the bathhouse then,’ said Jaskier, handing over his precious lute - along with a coin or two – to the unmoving innkeeper. ‘Here, look after this while I go, I don’t want moisture getting into the wood. Look after it like your most favourite child, or whatever you like looking after. Where is this bathhouse anyway?’

‘Through that door and just along the corridor to the left,’ said the innkeeper, gesturing with his head. ‘But-’

But Jaskier wasn’t listening. He was already walking towards the door, carrying his ale with him, and humming a tune to himself as he went. He thought he could turn this new song about Geralt The Loser into his signature song, and humiliate that stupid witcher while he was at it. Geralt might have the brawn – those biceps the size of hams – but Jaskier had the brains. He’d show him. Geralt of Rivia had messed with the wrong bard.

Jaskier went down the corridor, easily found the door marked ‘Bathhouse’, pushed it open, and walked right into the bathhouse, which was filled with steam and the smell of lilac and gooseberries. He had just long enough to think that that smell seemed familiar, when a feminine voice yelled at him.

‘What are you doing here? This was supposed to be private!’

‘Yennefer,’ said Jaskier, the name like lemon juice on his tongue.

‘Yes, it’s me,’ she said. ‘And you’re just about the last person I want to see right now, or ever.’

‘Oh, I assure you the feeling’s mutual,’ he retorted without thinking. He could just about make her out through the steam, reclining in a huge stone bathtub with her arms crossed over her chest to protect her modesty. Had! Like she had any modesty to protect.

‘Except, perhaps, for Geralt,’ he added, moving sideways and further into the room, trying to keep a distant distance between himself and the sorceress while also getting closer to the bath. ‘He’s the last person I want to see. Ever.’

‘Well, then I guess we have something in common after all, Bard,’ said Yennefer. ‘And here I was thinking you were Geralt’s loyal little lapdog.’

‘Lapdog…!’ said Jaskier, edging further into the room, trying to keep talking as he did so. ‘Not me. I’m not a lapdog. I’m a fierce… mastiff. I’d need to be to run with the white wolf. But he doesn’t know what loyalty even looks like. He wouldn’t know loyalty if it came up and tweaked him on the-‘

‘I know what you’re doing,’ said Yennefer. ‘Don’t think I can’t see through your little game. And I don’t want you in my bath. Why should I share my bathwater with a filthy bard?’

‘I’m not filthy!’ said Jaskier, then looked down at himself. ‘Okay, so maybe I’m filthy now. But it’s mostly my clothes, and I’ll take those off.’

‘You will not,’ said Yennefer. ‘I don’t need to see that.’

‘Like I’ve got anything you haven’t seen before.’

Yennefer just raised her eyebrows at that.

‘Besides,’ continued Jaskier, ‘look at the size of this tub! Plenty of room for us both.’

She glared at him then, turning that terrifying purple gaze on him, as if considering whether or not to turn him into a frog. He came close to fleeing from the room, and probably would have done if he hadn’t been so damn tired. Then, abruptly, she looked away.

‘Fine,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Get in the tub. See if I care. I’m not helping you scrub those hard-to-reach parts though.’

‘Wouldn’t want you to anyway,’ said Jaskier, starting to strip off. He wondered if any of his clothes would be salvageable or if he’d have to buy a completely new outfit next time he found himself somewhere where they were familiar with the concept of style. Or find another wealthy lover to buy some clothes for him, next time he was somewhere where wealthy music-lovers congregated.

Yennefer just rolled her eyes – which had the effect of making them significantly less terrifying – and then pointedly fixed her gaze on her own fingernails and applied herself to scrubbing them with a small brush.

***

Yennefer hadn’t planned on sharing her bathwater with anyone, and certainly not with that stupid bard who hung around Geralt, making doe eyes at him and inventing sappy and annoyingly catchy songs. She hadn’t quite had the energy – or the heart – to chuck him out of the bathhouse however, and now he was here…

She surreptitiously appraised his body, glancing between her fingers while she cleaned her nails. It had been years and years since she’d first encountered him as that callow youth she’d healed at Rinde, and despite the taunt she’d served him about crow’s feet, she thought those years had treated him kindly. He’d grown from a boy into – quite a man, actually. Yennefer raised her eyebrows a little as the bard finished undressing and lowered himself into the hot, scented water. Maybe she could have herself some fun, after all. Eyck had been – well, she couldn’t really call him a disappointment in bed as she’d expected him to thrust his baby snake a few times, grunt a bit and then roll over fast asleep, and that was exactly what he’d done.

Jaskier picked up a clean washcloth and a bar of soap from the side of the bathtub and started to scrub himself clean. As he did so, Yennefer gradually forgot to pretend to not be watching him, until he looked up, met her eyes, and spoke to her:

‘You’ve scrubbed that same fingernail about thirty times, I think it must be clean by now.’

Yennefer decided to smile rather than smite him – for now, at least - and she put the brush to one side.

‘All right, you got me. I was taking a peep. I never promised not to.’

Jaskier put his head on one side, and rested his finger on his chin, in a parody of deep thought which was probably the closest that lute-playing airhead actually got to thinking.

‘That’s funny,’ he said, ‘because I thought you said you “don’t need to see that”. Apparently, you did need to see it.’

This level of disrespect was… not acceptable. Yennefer made a sudden movement, surging towards him, and was pleased to see him startle, and attempt to scramble backwards. She was too quick for him, though, pinning him against the side of the tub.

‘Do you want to keep talking to a sorceress like that, bard?’ she asked him, her face very close to his.

His eyes widened in terror, although his body seemed to be responding to her… differently.

‘Or do you want to – shut up?’ she asked him, and glanced downwards.

‘I’ll shut up,’ he said in a squeaky voice.

‘Good,’ she said, and moved her hand away from the edge of the tub.

He gasped and bit his lip as she went to work, grasping his dick firmly at the base and coaxing it until it was standing fully to attention. Which didn’t take long. She ran her hand up his full length, and Jaskier lolled his head backwards, muttering something to himself that sounded like it might contain the word ‘Geralt’. She couldn’t have that.

Yennefer grabbed his chin with her other hand, and pulled his head upright.

‘Look at me,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you thinking about him.’

‘About who?’ he asked, although the blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

‘You know very well who,’ she snapped. ‘I want to forget him, and I thought you did too.’

‘I do. Want to forget.’

‘Well then, look at me, and think about me while we fuck. You want me to ride you like this?’

He gazed down at his own erection then, as if surprised to find it attached to his body.

‘I – er – sure, why not?’

‘I didn’t know if you preferred – other means of congress.’

‘Other means?’ he laughed, without much humour. ‘I’ve tried a few other means in my time, but right now I’m happy with this one.’

‘Good,’ she said, and lowered herself onto him.

***

Geralt spent some time at the top of the mountain after the others left, brooding, until he started to worry about Roach, left alone. His mood was still black as he turned to begin the weary journey back down to the inn. He hadn’t meant to drive Jaskier away like that; the bard was annoying, sure, like a stray dog that wouldn’t leave him alone and wanted to be fed scraps from the table, but he was harmless. Mostly. And as for Yennefer…

He tried not to think too much about Yennefer. He tried to drive her out of his mind, forget her purple eyes, her glossy dark hair and soft olive skin, her voice and her lips and that bewitching smell of lilac and gooseberries…

He soon gave up trying not to think about her, and instead he remembered the way they’d made love in her enchanted tent on side of the mountain, and lain there together afterwards and exchanged words which had felt like they meant something when they were spoken.

_You’re important to me._

Destiny. Fate. A song strummed on a lute, a pair of blue-grey eyes looking up at him in that puppy-dog way. A pair of purple eyes, far older than the face which held them. A golden dragon, talking of legacy and magic and everything that could and couldn’t be.

Why did he have to be entangled with all these things? Why couldn’t people – things – destiny – whatever – just fuck off and leave him alone?

Geralt was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed he’d reached the bottom of the mountain, until Roach whinnied at him in recognition. He stroked the horse’s nose and fed her an apple from the saddlebag.

‘At least you’ve never abandoned me,’ he said to her, and she whickered a little as if to reassure him. He patted her neck.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Time we got away from this place.’ He was briefly tempted to just give her the lead to go in whatever direction and at whatever speed she wanted to, but he was bone-deep weary and needed to rest his head. And have a bath. Scrub the mountain from his skin.

So he hauled himself into the saddle, and rode on towards the same inn where he’d stayed the night before they’d set off on their expedition. The Pensive Dragon, he thought it was called, and the name had a sour taste now. He didn’t want to think any more about dragons, pensive or otherwise.

As soon as Roach was settled in the stable, Geralt walked into the main room of the inn. It was starting to get busy now as evening drew in, people crowding around the bar. He had no interest in drinking just yet, so he didn’t bother to join them.

A young lad walked by, bearing several jugs of beer, and Geralt touched him lightly on the arm to get his attention.

‘Yes?’ he said, turning around. He looked a little harassed, and a group of already-drunk young men in the corner seemed to be the source of his problem, for as soon as the lad paused, they started yelling for their beer. Geralt shot them a murderous look, although it had little effect.

‘I need a bath,’ said Geralt.

‘You sure do,’ said the lad, then bit his lip as he realised he possibly shouldn’t have said that. ‘The bathhouse is over there,’ he said, ‘through that door.’ He gestured with a jug, slopping beer over the side as he did so.

‘Hey! That’s our beer!’ shouted one of the drunkards in the corner. ‘Get over here now!’

The lad shot Geralt a pleading look. ‘I need to go,’ he said. ‘But I think the bathhouse-‘

‘Beer! NOW!’

The lad dashed off, as fast as he could without spilling any more of his precious cargo. Geralt shrugged, and walked off in the direction he’d indicated. It didn’t take him long to find the door marked ‘Bathhouse’. He opened it and walked into a cloud of scented steam.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust so he could see through the steam, and for his nose to recognize that scent.

Lilac and gooseberries.

At the same time as he recognized the scent, he saw her. Yennefer. Sitting in the bathtub, her back to him as she moved up and down on top of –

‘Geralt!’ Jaskier yelped, grabbing Yennefer around the waist and trying to haul her off him. She resisted, clamping her thighs around him, while she turned her head round to look at the interloper.

‘Geralt,’ she said, her voice carefully expressionless.

‘Hmm,’ said Geralt.

‘What are you doing here?’ Jaskier asked. His voice was high and panicked.

‘Well, I was hoping to have a bath,’ said Geralt, his voice every bit as flat as Yennefer’s had been. He started to turn away, feeling even wearier than before, wondering if he could get some hot water and a room to lay his head, or if he should just get back in the saddle. He didn’t want to deal with – or think about – anything else right now.

‘You don’t have go, Geralt,’ said Yennefer. ‘You could stay and watch, if you like to watch. Or you could participate. There are a number of possible configurations we could try.’

‘Configurations?’ said Jaskier, who had now given up trying to shake her off, and collapsed back against the side of the bathtub. As Geralt knew from personal experience, she was stronger than she looked, and if she wanted something to happen, it usually would. She slid up and down Jaskier’s cock a couple of times, as if a kind of punctuation, and watched his face contort in a mixture of physical pleasure and mental anguish. She at least was clearly enjoying herself.

‘Yes, _configurations_ ,’ she said. ‘With two cocks and a plentiful supply of holes, there are so many possibilities for penetration. Even without bringing magic into play - which would give us even more possibilities. How did you and Geralt do it?’

She bounced on him sharply, making him squeal. ‘Me and Geralt?’

‘Yes, you and Geralt. Which one was the sword, and which the sheath?’

Jaskier’s face was a mixture of so many emotions at once it was impossible to tell which was uppermost, and Geralt looked away. He knew he should leave, and yet his feet felt somehow rooted to the spot. Maybe he did like to watch after all.

‘Oh, don’t tell me…’ Yennefer sounded delighted, for some reason. Geralt risked looking up again, and saw her smiling at him, her eyes full of mischief.

‘Don’t tell me you two never fucked,’ she said.

‘No, we didn’t,’ said Geralt.

‘Not once? Not in all your travels together? Not even a sneaky handjob on the road? Just lending a helping hand to each other, as I understand gentlemen do, from time to time.’

‘No,’ said Geralt.

Jaskier, meanwhile, had gone bright red, although how much that was due to the conversation, and how much due to having Yennefer still sitting on his cock, Geralt couldn’t be sure.

‘How delightful,’ said Yennefer. ‘And unexpected. Well, boys, let me be the one to help you overcome your shyness.’

With that, she climbed off Jaskier – who was left floundering in the water like a fish in a net, his cock still standing to attention – and walked towards Geralt, holding out her hand to him. And Geralt knew he should walk away – should have walked away some time ago – and yet there was that scent of lilac and gooseberries, and he was so very tired, and maybe he could just sit down for a while, and at least have a bath, and some soft flesh pressed against his body…

***

Jaskier thought he’d never felt so mortified before, ever in his entire life. Oh, he’d been caught naked before, in beds where he didn’t belong, and been chased out of houses with his buttocks bare. But he’d never felt so very – exposed. The sorceress had kept him imprisoned between her thighs, and now she’d abandoned him, and was stripping Geralt of his clothes, and oh gods Geralt was here and could see him like this, when he’d long ago decided to bury whatever part of him longed for that particular touch, and now…

Now all was stripped bare. And what could he do, but lie here helplessly and let it happen?

Well, he supposed he could technically get out of the bath and into his clothes and crawl off somewhere, but that felt like a very remote, theoretical possibility.

‘Let’s get you in the bath,’ Yennefer was saying now, leading Geralt over to the tub. Geralt, Jaskier couldn’t help noticing, was already half-hard, and he seemed compliant to the sorceress’ will, although his jaw was set in that way Jaskier recognized, when he wasn’t entirely happy with a situation, but he didn’t want to say anything.

Had she bewitched him? Or was she just overcoming his natural reticence and reserve to get him to do something he wanted to do anyway? Jaskier found himself – despite all those long years of self-denial – hoping that maybe Geralt wanted him after all, that Yennefer wasn’t the only one here who held his interest.

Yennefer led Geralt all the way to the bathtub, and then deftly moved away from him and settled herself on the opposite side of the tub, so that the witcher had no choice but to sit down next to Jaskier.

‘Hmm,’ he said, as he lowered himself into the water.

Jaskier tried to angle his erection away from Geralt, willing it to go down – although it didn’t. He knew only one thing would get his dick flaccid again now.

‘Bard, why don’t you help Geralt get clean?’ said Yennefer, and tossed over a washcloth and a bar of scented soap. Jaskier caught them on a reflex, and turned to Geralt. He swallowed. He’d done this before, after all – scrubbing selkiemore guts from all over Geralt’s body, even rubbing chamomile into that lovely bottom – although he himself had been fully clothed at the time, not stark naked and erect as a pikeman on parade. And he hadn’t had an audience.

‘Do you mind if I…?’ he asked, quietly.

‘Go ahead,’ said Geralt. He glanced briefly at Jaskier, his amber eyes taking in everything they saw, and holding it inside. Jaskier gulped, and set to work, wiping soap all down Geralt’s arm, those muscles bulging even in repose…

When he’d carefully washed in between all of Geralt’s fingers, he glanced back at Yennefer, who was watching them avidly, one hand resting on the edge of the bathtub, the other between her legs.

‘Why don’t you do his chest now?’ she said. Jaskier gulped again, and looked at Geralt’s face. His eyes were half-closed, and his mouth had moved into a half-smile. He seemed to be – enjoying this.

‘Go on,’ he said, his voice so low it was almost a growl. ‘If you want to.’

‘Oh, I do want to,’ said Jaskier, half-under his breath. ‘I’ve always wanted to.’ Did Geralt’s smile widen at that, just a tiny bit? Jaskier looked down, away from his face again, resting his eyes on that chiselled chest. He turned his back on Yennefer, and moved to clean Geralt’s skin. If he concentrated very hard on the simple physical task in hand, he could almost forget the situation he was in, sponging down an old friend who had spurned him, while sporting an outrageous erection, watched by a sorceress who until a few minutes ago had been riding his dick.

The only problem was that he couldn’t scrub at Geralt’s collarbones for long. Soon he had to move downwards, listen to the hiss of breath as he rubbed the washcloth over first one nipple and then the other. And then he had to move further downwards, to his stomach and then –

And then there wasn’t any ignoring it, not any more. Geralt was as hard as Jaskier was, the end of his cock just breaking the surface of the water, reminding him irresistibly of a seal coming up for air. Jaskier felt as if he needed to come up for air too, as if he would drown if he stayed here a second longer. He dragged his eyes back up Geralt’s body, until he was looking at his face again – and met that steady golden gaze.

‘Here,’ said Geralt roughly, and grabbed hold of Jaskier’s hand – the one which still held the washcloth. Geralt’s other hand – now that was a surprise – went to Jaskier’s hip and pulled him into the other man, until –

‘Oh!’ said Jaskier, as he realised what Geralt was trying to do, and then helped him. Geralt pulled their two cocks together, wrapped their two hands – and the soapy washcloth – around them, and started moving their hands in a steady rhythm. And that was –

‘Oh, that’s good, that’s really good, Geralt, please don’t stop,’ Jaskier moaned.

‘Stop,’ said Yennefer, and he could hear her sloshing in the bath water, coming towards them, but he didn’t want to stop, he was so close to release…

***

‘That’s enough,’ said Yennefer. It had been fun to watch the two of them for a while, but now she wanted more than her own fingers could provide. She didn’t want them sated before she’d taken her own pleasure from them – and Melitele knew, men took time to get ready again. Even men with a witcher’s enhancements. She grabbed Jaskier by the hip-bones and pulled him away from Geralt, then slid herself between them.

‘It’s my turn for some fun,’ she said, and put her hands on Geralt’s shoulders. She levered herself upwards, his eyes locked on hers, and then slipped down again, with him inside her now.

‘What about me?’ said Jaskier, plaintively. Yennefer looked back over her shoulder at him.

‘You can use the back door, if you like,’ she said, and wiggled her backside at him, just a little. His eyes widened.

‘There’s some oil just over there,’ she said, pointing to the left with her elbow. ‘It should do to – ah – ease your way.’

‘Yen, are you sure you want to do this?’ Geralt asked her. ‘What’s this going to solve?’

‘I’m sure,’ she said, turning back to look into his eyes. ‘And it doesn’t have to _solve_ anything, Geralt. We both know – you can’t give me what I want, I can’t give you what you need, and as for the bard-’

She looked around again. Jaskier was still just sitting there where she’d shoved him, cock hard and mouth agape.

‘Are you going to join us, or not?’ she asked. ‘Come on. I want to know what it feels like to have both of you at once.’

‘I – er – all right,’ he said, and went to get the oil. Yennefer moved slowly up and down Geralt’s cock a few times while they waited, watching the pleasure gradually replace the pain on his face. Not entirely, though – never entirely. They’d fucked – and even made love – plenty of times before today, and she knew that the pain never entirely left him.

When Jaskier returned to them, she held still, leaning forward, her arms around Geralt’s neck, and Jaskier’s oil-slicked fingers slid inside her. It felt good, in a strange, invasive way – to have one man already inside her, and another preparing to penetrate her. Then he took his fingers away, and after a couple of moments they were replaced by his dick, feeling so much bigger now, how would he ever manage to get it inside… she let out a little involuntary squeak of pain.

He paused.

‘Don’t you dare stop!’ she said.

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he said.

‘I can take it, I can take all of it,’ she snarled.

‘You don’t have to,’ said Geralt.

‘I know I don’t have to, I want to!’

‘All right, all right,’ said Jaskier, and kept going, until he was all the way inside her, right to the hilt. Now she had the both of them, filling her up as much as she could be filled. And that felt – strange and painful and wrong and yet somehow also right, somehow exactly what she needed right now. She didn’t know if she’d ever see either of these two men again, and she didn’t know if she wanted to – because seeing them was also strange and painful and wrong, so she might as well get what she could from them.

‘Now, stay still, I’ll do this,’ she said, and they obeyed. Still as statues, while she moved up and down a few times, shifting to get the angle she needed, and that felt good like that, yes just like that…

It didn’t take long, for her or for them. Within a few moments they were there, all of them crying out together, and anyone overhearing them from the tavern would have been hard-pressed to say whether they were crying out in pleasure or in pain.

And Yennefer knew the answer to that, every time: both.

***

Geralt blew out a long breath, and slumped back against the edge of the bathtub, feeling completely spent - in more ways than one. Yennefer climbed off of him and Jaskier, and sank back into the water until it covered her head, hiding beneath the surface. Jaskier moved away from them both, and started splashing water into his face, as if trying to clean himself of the memory of what they had done together.

‘It won’t work,’ said Geralt.

‘What won’t?’ asked Jaskier. Yennefer’s face re-emerged, but only her face, surrounded by a cloud of hair.

‘You won’t forget,’ he said. ‘None of us will forget. Curse of a long life. You remember everything.’

He picked up a washcloth – the same one Jaskier had been using on him, only a few minutes before – and wiped his own face. Then he stood up and climbed out of the bath. He found a soft linen towel, and went to grab his clothes.

‘Geralt –’ Jaskier started to say.

‘What?’

‘What – happens now?’

‘Now I’m going to have a drink, and then I’m going to find a bed, and go to sleep.’

‘By yourself?’ asked Yennefer, still almost entirely submerged.

‘Yes,’ said Geralt, and turned his back on them.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Witcher fic! Thank you for reading, comments very welcome.


End file.
